Agenda 21
by Mister Takeda
Summary: The insidious cabal of vampires that secretly controls the going-ons of the world has unleashed their latest scheme onto the world, the dastardly Agenda 21, a non-binding, voluntarily implemented action plan of the United Nations with regard to sustainable development. This unleashes chaos onto the world as Americans starve to death from not being able to have their sweet sweet can


Another day in Real Heaven

The Boss sighed disgustedly. "What is it about uniting the world that you don't understand?"

Big Boss looked ashamed. He looked at his feet, spirit feet, the way he imagined them in his time on Earth. "Uh.." he stammered, "Well.. I thought you meant for soldiers."

"No, Snake. Not soldiers. There's more to the world than just soldiers, you dummy."

"I thought.." A long pause. He took a drag on his phantom cigar, which was an ethereal cigar constructed of memories of authentic Cuban cigars Big Boss had smoked throughout his life.

"I thought I taught you better than that."

"Mother.."

"Don't mother me, Mister. You really messed up down there."

"… Hrmm.."

* * *

Agenda 21 was going as planned. The Illuminati's carefully constructed plan to make the world into a literal prison planet by making everyone consume a sustainable amount of resources, a feat which we all know is both unnecessary, and impossible, was successfully passed by the puppet organization known as the UN. America was doomed. An eagle wept softly as it passed over an empty spot where the World Trade Center used to be.

* * *

"Vampires aren't real."

"Yeah, see, that's where you're wrong."

"No, that's where you and I separate, and you become a wild fantasist and I remain a sane person."

"Okay, let's watch that now."

"You're literally taking psych medication as we speak."

"Now let's just watch it. I have to take these pills, or the Illuminati will send me back to prison as a violation of my parole."

"You're a lunatic and a criminal."

"Now, let's just watch it, now."

The conversation was interrupted by a well-dressed man. He was looking for information on where to find the latest issue of some run of the mill superhero comic for his twelve year old son. Both of the participants rolled their eyes, directing the man sarcastically.

"Maybe I'll just order it on Amazon."

"Maybe you should," quipped the psychotic felon, downing his pills with a flask.

The door jingled as he left, and the round faced skeptic prodded his friend. "So you're afraid of vampires, now?"

"Always was. Just didn't know what to call them till now."

"And these vampires run the Illuminati?"

"Among other organizations. My god, these pills upset my stomach."

"You should probably take them with food."

"Jack is food, goddamnit! Since when do you care? You ain't my mother."

"A fact I'm eternally grateful for."

"So.. what do you think of this new 'Agenda 21'?"

"What? The environmental thing. It's a nice gesture but I don't think—"

"Kiss our jobs, goodbye."

"I don't follow."

"You think they have trees to spare for comic books?"

"Well, not in a truly environmentally sound-"

"Would you rather wipe your ass or read a comic book?"

"What?"

"Thems the choices, either wipe your ass, or read about Superman. There's no other options."

"Whatever."

"Vampires, my friend. Vampires."

* * *

Deep in the Illuminati secret base, the vampires were just finishing a meal, a meal called babies.

"Aaah, Octavius, what a delightful meal!"

"Call me by my mortal name, Clavicle!"

"Well, Barrack, I was merely stating what a fine meal of infant blood we just had."

"Straight from the stores of Planned Parenthood's unwanted infant bank!"

"My word, what a brilliant idea we had when we dreamt that one up. Absolutely brilliant!"

"Now, on to more pressing matters!"

"You mean, Agenda 21?"

"Yes. The plan to literally transform the entire Earth into a prison planet, from which there is no escape!"

"Yes, Octa-er-Barrack, but is this not already true? Without ready access to space travel—"

"It is even more of a prison planet now, Clavical, my satanic friend and sometimes gay lover!"

"Yes, my brother in Satan, but it does not need doing. We have, of course, suppressed the precious water-fuel technology that made space travel possible, even affordable, without which there is no hope of traveling to other planets."

"Yes, but now it is even MORE impossible than before! Truly! What a secure planet we live on!"

"Absolutely no escape!"

"Now, embrace me, dear brother. I want to have gay sex with you while we are still covered in the blood of newborns."

"I await your penis, dear brother."

* * *

Alex Jones awoke from his terrible nightmare covered from head to toe in sweat. He arose from bed, careful not to awake his wife, who was a vampire, but one of the good ones – He was pretty sure – and sneaking downstairs, he lit a cigarette and dialed a specific preset number on his untraceable phone. He listened as a voice answered.

"Alex?"

"Glenn. I had the dream again."

"The one where he has sex with another man covered in baby's blood?"

"It was so real, Glenn. It was almost like I was bending that.. thing, over the mortuary slab."

"Didn't you marry a vampire?"

"That's not the issue, Glenn. The issue is they're trying to transform this place into a prison."

"... A perfect, inescapable planet."

"Hrmm…"

"I warned them this would happen, Alex. It's all I can do."

"I'm scared, Glenn."

"We all are, Alex. We all are."

"Come over and hold me."

"Alright, but no gay stuff this time."

"It's not gay when we do it, Glenn."

"I know, Alex. I know."

* * *

"And that's why your plan doesn't make any sense."

"But.. the soldiers can.. fight, fight for their own freedom."

"Fight who, Snake?"

"Eh.. Other soldiers, I guess."

"And fighting is?"

"…A sign people aren't united or at peace."

"Right."

Big Boss lit another real life phantom cigar with his mind. "Peace is hard, Boss."

"No, Jack. You're just an idiot."

"Hrmm…"

"Here. If I tell you explicitly how to bring about world peace, and ask God to reincarnate you, will you do it right this time?"

"Yeah.. I guess.."

"Alright, well listen up—"

* * *

Chuck Palahniuk fingered the small plastic cup of whiskey the steward had put in from of him. He pensively scanned the plane for people with disabilities he might find humorous. A redneck, he spotted when he first boarded the plane, had returned from a prolonged stay in the John, and Chuck's tried to conceal a smile.

"Mah boy gave everbody rabies and then went back in time to kill his relatives and fuck his ma!" the redneck exclaimed without any prompt or warning.

"This is great!" Chuck said, digging a chunky netbook out of the overhead. "Tell me more!"

"He dun crashes cars fer a livin' with some crazy kids! He's named after the sound you make when you vomit! Oh! What a dystopian future we live in!"

Chuck was so enthralled he nearly missed the man with the box cutter, as he jammed it into the face of the steward.

"This is a hijacking!" The bearded man sounded suspiciously like voice actor David Hayter, but he looked more like Kurt Russell in the 1980's. It sexually excited the writer for a number of reasons.

The terrorist held R1 to throttle the airline steward, and pressed in the left analog stick to menace him with the box cutter. He selected "Spit it out.." from the menu and the man did.

"Our specialist is located in the front of the plane. He excels at making mixed drinks, but the airlines won't let him. Something about the customers not being able to taste the alcohol. They find the taste—urk – comforting!"

"Where are your friends?"

"Uh, all over the plane! Really! I told you everything I know!"

The terrorist stabbed the box cutter into the man's chest, killing him instantly somehow.

"Mah brother is two people!"

"Shut up!" Palahniuk yelled at the redneck, hammering wildly at the keyboard, recording every gory detail of his hijacking.

The terrorist put his forefinger to his temple, speaking to unseen forces. "Colonel, I've secured the business class, but I accidently pressed triangle and killed a steward."

"Remember the mission, Snake. You've got to take control of the plane and pilot it into intended target."

"A suicide mission."

"Not exactly. You'll be making a HALO jump at the last minute, and landing safely in Central Park."

"Central Park."

"That's right, Snake. When you land, try to blend in, and avoid muggers. They might try and take your camera."

"But I earned that Camera. New Game+" The terrorist gestured to his headband.

"Just make sure you hit your intended target. We'll be in touch!"

"Snake out!"

Chuck Palahniuk recorded every word of the conversation, which was one-sided and confusing, because he could not receive codec communications, which are telepathy, but with nanomachines, except in the 60's, where they're just two way radio conversations.

"This will be my greatest novel yet! I'll call it Survivor!"

The terrorist grunted, swiping his box cutter robotically at the strange man with the netbook until he collapsed and faded into nothing.

"Remember what I told you Snake.. Remember what I told you."

* * *

"AAaaaaa!"

"Chill out, bro!"

"These weren't psych meds at all! They were my mom's estrogen supplement! Now I'm going to have tits!"

"Chill out! We can talk this over!"

"I'm going to fuck your face, Dante! I'm going to fuck your mouth for making me take lady pills!"

"Randal! NO!"

But it was too late/

The terrorists had won/

And they were vampires/

After all.


End file.
